Distortion Modulator
by Kanna-Ophelia
Summary: Misfits-centric femmeslash. Clash returns to reconcile with the group, but she's not the only one suffering from insecurity. (Some adult language). *complete*
1. prodigal

**~ Notes: This is femmeslash, set fairly soon after _Video Wars._  If you're homophobic, now would be a good time to leave.**

**The Misfits, Holograms and various hangers-on belong to "Jem!" – not me.  And a certain stupid/suggestive remark Pizzazz makes was infamously made by Sporty Spice first.   This is dedicated to my beloved, for making me promise to have Pizzazz say that line in a fic at some point. ;)**

**Oh, and the fashion doll of Clash came with her very own distortion modulator – but no cymbals.~**

**"Distortion Modulator"**

I swore I wouldn't come back. Not until I could show them… until I could show them all.  Jem with her sweet voice and open face that would snap close if she recognised me,  my superior little bitch  of a cousin Vivianne, and most of all Pizzazz, with those hard glittering eyes that only melted when she wanted something from me.

I could tell you every single time her eyes softened when she looked at me, if you like.  The count really doesn't go very high.

But what was there to do?  I couldn't go home and face my parents, not hear them tell me how proud they were that their little Constance was a Misfit.  Not now, when I'd fucked up my chances for ever.  And fucked them up over Aja, of all people – Aja, who had been right about me all along, and was probably patting herself on the back over sussing me out for the evil nothing I was.

So I went where I always went when I had nowhere else.  The Gabor mansion.

For a moment, I was afraid the housekeeper wouldn't let me in.  She looked at me as if I was a stranger, and I had visions of Pizzazz instructing her to throw me out with the trash.  But then her expression softened, and she called me Miss Montgomery  as if nothing out of the usual had happened, and told me where to find Miss Gabor and her friends.

I came around the side of the house and hesitated.  Only Stormer was actually in the pool, cutting lazily through the water.  The others hated to swim.  Water flattened their hair and made their makeup run, and I couldn't blame them for not thinking it was worth it.  They wore skimpy bathing suits nevertheless, three half-naked bodies stretched out in a row in the last of the afternoon sun.  The oil on Pizzazz and Roxy's skin glistened in the sunlight, but Jetta lay in the shade of a parasol. She was always so proud of her skin, so fine and pale against her silver-streaked hair that it looked like she used arsenic. I envied her that skin, but then envy had become so natural a part of my feelings that it was no more noticeable than my heart beating.

I couldn't force my knees to bend and carry me any closer.  The three girls lying in the deck chairs were watching Stormer, or else sleeping – it was hard to tell under their sunglasses.  Pizzazz was wearing a purple leopard skin two piece that looked more like suede than something that could safely enter the water.  She had obviously been tanning her back a few minutes before, because the top was still untied, draped loosely over her breasts.  If she sat up too quickly, it would fall askew.  Any paparazzo would pledge their life for such a shot… My blood was pounding in my ears, and I felt like throwing up.

The light was rippling off the water in disorienting waves as Stormer splashed her way through it, or perhaps it only felt that way because I was dizzy with fear.  If I didn't do something, I really would throw up or faint, which was not exactly the impression I wanted to make.  But my throat was sore, and I couldn't make myself think.

If they turned me out, I decided with what was almost detachment, I would kill myself.

I always reverted to habit under pressure.  I raised my hands over my head, and clashed my wrists together.  

The cymbals rang out, and three heads turned in perfect synchronicity towards me.  The Misfits frequently moved as one; it took Jetta roughly three days to match her heartbeat to the group, and I would have hated her for it if she hadn't been so beautiful and self-confident – so obviously a Misfit.  Stormer, hearing the clash or sensing something up, trod water and turned towards me.

The other two were silent, waiting to take their cue from Pizzazz. Roxy's lips, full and pouting under her orange lipstick, tightened a little at the corners, but I couldn't tell if that was a good or bad sign.  I was pretty sure Pizzazz was keeping me waiting on purpose, but what right did I have to resent it? I had walked out on them, in tears, no less… And I knew how Pizzazz despised weakness.

Finally, she pushed her glittering sunglasses up into her lime-green hair, and levelled an equally green glance at me.

"Well, Clash.  So you've come crawling back on hands and knees?"

I nodded, trying not to let the tears that were threatening become visible, and tried to keep my head up high.  Pizzazz surveyed me for another long moment, then tilted her sunglasses back down with one long finger.  She nodded, very slowly.  "I could do with a soda, while you're up."

The cooler was sitting only inches from where one of Pizzazs's oil-shining legs dangled over the edge of her chair, but I understood that I was being conditionally forgiven.  A warm flood of relief rushed over me, and I again came perilously close to falling.  As Pizzazz and Roxy called out their own requests, and Stormer heaved herself over the edge of the pool, I opened the cooler to take out the drinks, noticing how Pizzazz's golden skin sprang into goose bumps as the cold air hit it.  I tried not to think about how sun-warm the rest of her skin must be in comparison.  Her skin could not be as hot as my face, at least.

She grunted as I handed her the drink, the closest that she ever came to thanks and a concession in itself.  She pushed the icy can under her bikini top, shivering with pleasure at the coldness between her breasts. 

A memory drifted into my mind, one that I tried conscientiously to forget but which popped up at the oddest moments.  Pizzazz on 'Lin-Z', soon after her disastrous liaison with Riot, declaring that she wished she was a lesbian because men sucked.  I knew it didn't mean anything, especially not to me, and I had no excuse for the sleepless nights that followed.

She was utterly gorgeous, and her top was going to slide off any moment.

I realised abruptly that I had been staring too long – only a couple of seconds, but still too long – and turned to hand Roxy her drink.  She had removed her own glasses, and her purple eyes were narrowed under lowered brows.  I knew Roxy didn't appreciate people hanging all over her best friend. Of all the Misfits, the one I have always been wariest of is Roxy. Pizzazz might destroy things in a wild mood, or throw tantrums, but Roxy actually aims her blows to hurt.  I adore her, of course, but there was no doubting that I'd always been little scared of her, too.  And now, just when I needed to placate them all, I'd pissed her off.

If she figured that I was a dyke, I'd probably be out on my ear again.

Apologising was impossible under the circumstances, so I quickly turned and tossed Jetta her drink, garnering a "Ta, love," and then hesitated.  There was a free deck chair, but Stormer was coming towards me, her sapphire curls ringleted with water, and I didn't dare take it.  Instead, I moved towards the ice chest again.

"Hey honey, I can get my own drink."  Stormer pushed past me, and when her hand found mine in passing and squeezed it, it was all I could do not to burst into tears and fling my arms around her.  The temptation doubled when she took two drinks, perched on the edge of the deck chair and patted the space next to her.  I ignored Roxy rolling her eyes, and gratefully squashed next to her.  Stormer's damp hips were cold against my own and probably were ruining my velour mini, but I didn't care.  At least someone seemed grateful to have me back.

I pushed that thought away, along with a sudden memory of how differently Jem and Aja had treated me to the way the Misfits other than Stormer treated me.  It wasn't important, anyway.  Jem and her friends only bother with pleases and thank yous because they're weak. Pizzazz… Pizzazz knows she's a goddess, and the only reason Stormer is any different is that she hasn't realised her own power yet.

Now that all four girls were awake, conversation turned to plans to fly to Monte Carlo for a concert at the end of the month, because after all Jem and the Holograms were going.  It was all too easy to fall back into the conversation, waiting to see if Pizzazz approved of someone's comments before chiming in with agreement, reassuring them of how beautiful and talented they were – after all, it was not as though I had to lie – and justifying my presence by letting them know how much I admired and loved them.  All I had to do was ignore the fact that I'd hoped that I'd be discussing this concert as part of the touring group, as an equal… as a Misfit.  I could throw myself on the floor and scream later.  Right now, Pizzazz needed me to tell her how gorgeous she would look in mint green vinyl.

She did need me. They all did.  People were always putting the Misfits down, just because they weren't bland little goodie-goodies like the Holograms.  The Misfits needed me to remind them just how fabulous they really were. And after all the time I'd hung around with them, no one understood them and their needs quite as well as I did.   Jem might seem sweet, but she and her little bitch friends always spoiled things for their rivals  – and they were bitches, I reminded myself, bitches who liked to ruin everything for the people I really loved. They might have been nice to me for a while, but they hadn't really cared, and they'd rejected me just as soon as they found out who I really was.

The Misfits had accepted me back.

At one point in the conversation, when Roxy and Jetta were immersed in a furious fight over whether Jetta deserved a saxophone solo, with a highly amused Pizzazz arbitrating – or egging them on – Stormer turned her head very slightly and whispered into my ear.

"When you were, you know, with the Holograms, did – did Kimber mention me to you at all?"  Her voice trembled a little.

Her hair was dripping onto my shoulder, and soaking through my fake fur tank top.  I turned to look into blue eyes very close to my own, and lied through my teeth. "She said she missed you a lot."

Stormer gave me a smile like a sudden blast of sun, and warmed away my guilt.  Then she turned back to the conversation, trying to soothe the warring girls with the predictable result that they both turned on her.  I'd learned not to interfere in squabbles between Jetta and Roxy long since. Finally, Stormer muttered something about it being too cold now the sun had gone in, and she stomped back inside, looking as sulky as she could look.

The others ignored her exit. I felt a little lost without her support beside me… But what did it matter? I was back in.

The air was growing chillier, and the pool lights flicked on, drenching the water with blue light. Jetta was still holding forth airily.  "If I could tell her I had a solo, I could probably get Princess Caroline to come to the concert as our special guest."

"Really?" Pizzazz sat up slightly and smiled at her, even as she reached behind herself to tie up her bikini top again.  The way she was sitting, there was no way she could see Roxy rolling her eyes in derision, but I could.  I tried not to catch Roxy's gaze, in case I giggled at the wrong moment.

"Sure as I'm speaking to you, love.  After all, the English Royal Family and the Royal Family of Monaco are like _this." Jetta held up crossed fingers._

Pizzazz's smile grew dreamy as she arranged her bust flatteringly inside her top. "Imagine - Princess Caroline at our show," she purred.  "And maybe Prince Rainier, too…" She swung out of her chair.  "Come inside – it's freezing. We'll talk about this after we eat." Roxy climbed to her feet as well as Jetta, but it was the raven-haired girl that Pizzazz slipped an arm around as they wandered back into the house.

I rose to my feet as well, and watched dully as the two girls walked into the house, linked closely, Jetta's arm against the bare skin of Pizzazz's waist.  Even from behind, Jetta was stunning, with that glowing pale skin in her sleek black maillot.  More than I had at any time during the day, I wanted to fling myself on the ground and howl.

There was a soft expulsion of air next to my right ear.  I turned, and realised that I was lucky I had never really made Roxy lose her temper, or I would be a smear on the grass. She was staring after Jetta as if she was contemplating how big a hole the leg of her deck chair would make if she rammed it through the saxophonist's spine.

There wasn't much I could say to her, under the circumstances.  I started inside, wondering sickly if I was included in the invitation for dinner or if I was about to mess up again. I'd only taken one step when I felt a hand close on my wrist.

"Clash."  Roxy was holding my wrist very tight, so that the cymbal had to be cutting into her hand, but she didn't loosen her grip.  "Clash, you didn't like watching that neither, did you?"

I stared blankly at her.  I had no idea what she was trying to say.  All that palest platinum hair was glowing like moonlight in the dusk, and the shadows of her nose and cheekbones were long and dark on her face.  She looked like some kind of twilight spirit conjured by the weird lighting.  A twilight spirit with an uncertain temper and a very hard grip.  

Don't be intimidated by her, Clash, I told myself, at least you can spell your own name – and then I berated myself for the disloyal thought. Roxy isn't exactly well educated, but she's sharp as knives and twice as hard. 

She seemingly gave up waiting for an answer, because she clicked her tongue impatiently and explained, each word very separate but not particularly clear, hissing with anger.  "You're jealous, Clash.  Because you wanna be the girl Pizzazz had her arm around, not some dumb British broad. I'm right, aren't I?"

I thought of something to say at last. "You're the one who's her best friend, Roxy."  I moved my free hand to cover her hand on my wrist, and smiled placatingly.  The cymbal was beginning to dig into me even through the leather strap holding it in place.  The sharp edge would be against her palm, so why wasn't she in pain?

"Yeah, so I am. Or I'm supposed to be."  She let the implication hang in the air.  "You don't like Jetta much neither, do you?  After all, she took *your* rightful place in the band."

For a moment, I let myself believe that Roxy was going to offer me Jetta's place in the Misfits, and everything I hoped for would come true.  But somehow I'd lost the ability to believe in that.  My destiny was to be a hanger-on, not a star; and Roxy didn't really want me in the band, either. She'd made that abundantly clear.

"I think Jetta's wonderful," I said honestly, even though tears threatened to choke me.  "She's – she's a real Misfit."

The girl's grip tightened further, and I gasped in pain.  I knew Roxy was strong, but this was ridiculous.  "She's a bitch." Roxy was smiling, but there was no joy in it.  I wanted to run away more than anything in the world.  "And she's with the girl we both want – ain't that right, Clash?"

"Roxy!" I wasn't sure if I was shocked at her attacking another Misfit so openly or at… the rest of it.

"We treat you like trash, don't we, Clash?" she said.  The words were gentle enough that I would never have expected them from anyone but Stormer, but Roxy's tone had no kindness in it, only a kind of bitter unhappiness.  "And you still come back… you still love us whether we act like your friends or not. And none of us even care if you're lonely, or if you're in love with someone we can't have."

She did something with my wrist, twisting and pulling towards her as her other hand came up to my shoulder, and the next thing I knew, I was being kissed.  There was no gentleness about the hard pressure of her open mouth on mine, but her tongue was soft as it pushed into my mouth.  As soft as the half-naked body being pressed against mine.

She released my wrist to snake her other arm around me and hold me closer, and somehow my freed hand found the bare skin of her hip, settling there as my other hand moved to cup the side of her face.  Her skin was greasy with makeup, and her mouth tasted of lipstick, and even if this was a trap I couldn't do anything more than cling to her and moan into the kiss, let my mouth open and respond to her.  She wasn't Pizzazz, but she was beautiful and powerful and one of my beloved Misfits, and she was kissing me as if she meant it.

It felt like I had wandered into one of my own guilty daydreams.

**~tbc~  _Feedback_**_ longed for._


	2. vocaliser

Roxy pulled away at last. She seemed to be breathing hard – a quick glance downwards confirmed she was, and I hoped the light had failed too much for her to tell how much I was blushing – and her lipstick was smeared.  I could see the glint of her teeth through her parted lips, the same pearly sheen as her hair.

"Don't have anything to say, huh?" I was silent, and Roxy laughed.  The sound seemed to fall on the patio like a hail of glass shards.  "I knew I was right about you." The hand on my shoulder pulled at my tank top. "All that fake fur you wear is scratching my skin."

"I'm sorry," I said automatically.

"So get it off," she snapped impatiently, pushing me slightly away so that I came close to unbalancing and stumbling back into the pool.  "There's nothing to be afraid of."   I was suddenly afraid that I would ruin this miracle through being too slow – I knew Roxy became bored almost as easily as Pizzazz did – and wrenched the top over my head, catching it on my headband.  I was blushing, even though even in a bra, skirt and tights I was still far more modestly dressed that Roxy was in her strapless bikini. She laughed.

"Yeah, that's my good girl.  You're so cute, Clash.  Our perfect little fan who would do anything for Pizzazz – for us."  Her eyes seemed far too bright, but perhaps that was just because the light was almost gone.  Besides, her eyes closed as she wrapped her arms around me again, kissing far more tenderly this time, a long wet slide of her tongue against mine that seemed to dissolve every bone in my body.  So maybe her eyes were closed because she was thinking of Pizzazz, and maybe she thought I was doing the same… But why should I? Roxy was a true Misfit, in touch with some glamour and fire that had always, always eluded me… but was in my arms now.  It wasn't just enough, it was some kind of fantasy created by the pool lights glimmering in the water.

I retained just enough sense of myself to be worried that Roxy was choosing to do this here and now, in Pizzazz's back yard, so to speak.  It was one thing if we were just making each other feel better; another thing altogether if I was being used as revenge against Pizzazz. But I couldn't imagine pulling away, not when Roxy found my lower lip and sucked it hard between her teeth, her hands sliding up my sides to curve against the sides of my breasts. Her fingertips edged inwards to circle lightly over my nipples, and what little self-possession I had deserted me.  I wound my hands tightly in her thick hair, painfully dragged my lip from the grip of her teeth and began to kiss fiercely in return.

I was only vaguely aware of Roxy stepping backwards with clumsy unseeing steps, pulling me with her.  The motion stopped after a moment, and then she sat back heavily, pulling me tumbled onto her lap and losing the contact between our mouths.

We stared at each other for a long moment, staring blankly into each other's faces.  Roxy was a mess, a beautiful mess, her mane of hair disrupted and her lips looking too full from smeared lipstick.  The painted lines on her face looked like slap marks in the semi-darkness.  

"Clash."  Was her voice really so shaky because of me, or because somehow we'd ended up on Pizzazz's chair and she was doubting the whole deal?  "You know I won't make you do this – I'm not like that.  You can put your top back on right now and no hard feelings, 'kay? We'll go in just the same as if nothing happened."

I wanted to point out that she would have to fix her makeup before we went back inside, but I found myself kissing her again instead.  She rather awkwardly lowered herself back in the chair until I was lying half on top of her, holding her face in my hands and pressing clinging kisses against her mouth, licking the lines of paint on her cheeks and down over her chin, pausing to suck there.

I felt her pass her hands over the back of my hair, stroking down to massage the nape of my neck. I was startled into stopping until she made a complaining noise.  I never would have thought that Roxy, of all people, would touch me so gently.

I recovered myself and began kissing her again, nuzzling where the chin turned into her neck so that she flung her head back to allow more access.  Her throat was long and slender and sensitive enough that she sobbed in the back of it as I kissed and licked and sucked her skin.  I'd be leaving marks, and I hoped she wouldn't be angry with me when she realised, but the sounds she were making were encouraging me. The slightly acrid taste of coconut suntan oil was addictive.  I wanted to swallow it down until I could taste her skin alone.

I paused again in the hollow of her neck, tilting my head to butterfly-kiss it with my eyelashes while I gathered courage. Then I made my way down, kissing every tiny space on Roxy's clavicle and to the tender valley between her breasts.  I kissed softly down until I reached the line of her bikini top, hardly daring to believe that, far from protesting, she was heaving in desperate breaths. I was breathing hard too, and sweating, wishing I hadn't chosen to wear something as hot as my sparkly lurex tights.  I wanted to look cool and attractive, for Roxy…  But then, I had wanted to dress to impress the Misfits, not long before.  

I put all my worries aside, and ran my mouth over the dry touch of fabric, finding her left nipple through the bathing suit and taking it gently between my lips to suck deeply.  Roxy cried out hoarsely.

I lifted my head, expecting to see her eyes closed as she thought about… someone else… and met wide eyes, black in the darkness and meeting my gaze openly.

Her hands had been still resting in the nape of my neck.  She lifted one, and caressed the side of my face.  "Clash - Constance.  It's okay."  I hadn't even realised she remembered my other name – not my real name, Clash is who I really am, but the name my parents called me.  While I was wondering why she chose to use it now, her other hand slid down and pulled the bandeau of her top down, so that the full curve of her breasts were open to the night air.  "There, isn't that better?"  She reached around me and unhooked my bra, removing it as carefully as if I was a doll, and running her fingers over my breasts with the same light touch.  "Pretty Constance."

"Pretty? Roxy, you're – beautiful…" The skin between her brows dented, just a little, but I realised that she didn't want to hear it. Not from me, anyway.   I lowered my head instead.

At least this I was good at.  Judging from the way Roxy arched under my mouth, very good instead. And I had known her skin without oil would taste like this, tasted the way softness would taste if it registered on that other sense.  I decided to stop thinking altogether, and just let moment slide into moment, as I explored what was offered to me.

I don't know how long it lasted, but it was not long enough.

I shrieked with pain as my head was jerked back, the tail of longer hair grabbed and pulled roughly back.  Away from Roxy, whose eyes were wide again, but not with desire or tenderness.

"Aaaargh! Get off her!"  There was no mistaking that particular fire-engine shriek of rage.

An arm came tightly around my rib cage and pulled me back along with the grip on my hair.  I let myself be hauled half to my feet and then dropped to one knee, folding my hands over my breasts in terrified modesty, still held by the tail of hair.  Roxy made no attempt to hold me, or to cover herself.

All her attention was on Pizzazz.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Roxanne Pelligrini?" Maybe I'd been afraid of the wrong Misfit.  I'd never seen anyone literally shake with rage like this before.

Roxy's mouth had settled into a sullen pout as if she was merely arguing with Jetta, but her eyes were still too wide in her face.  "It should be obvious, shouldn't it? What are you doing out here anyways?"

"It's _my backyard!" I hadn't thought Pizzazz's voice could get any louder, but she was surpassing herself.  We were probably being watched by Jetta, Stormer and a house full of servants by now.  I just hoped Pizzazz's father wasn't home.  I hugged myself tighter and prayed for merciful death. For the moment I didn't even care what I'd done to my status with the Misfits – all I hoped for was to avoid dying either at Pizzazz's hands, or of humiliation._

"Yeah.  It is, isn't it."  Roxy stared up at her for a moment. "But I thought you were busy with Jetta."

"Busy – Jetta –" Pizzazz's voice died away a little.  I could swear that, from her tone, she had no idea what Roxy was talking about. "You didn't come in, and I came to see if you were okay.  I should have realised that – this – " she tugged on my hair, and I squealed despite myself – "this lousy little slut had tried to find another way to buy her way into the group." She was shouting again.

"Don't talk about Clash that way. It's not her fault!" Roxy's voice rose almost as high, although no one could out scream Pizzazz in full voice.

"You don't want me to insult your precious girlfriend? It's your fault, then?  You wanted me to walk out and find you with her?"  Pizzazz dropped my hair, but I didn't dare leave.  I sat on the ground and reached out for my fur top, pulling it on so that I felt less exposed.  Not that Roxy seemed in the slightest self-conscious, sitting there in her bikini bottoms and nothing else.  

Roxy took so long to answer that I was as close to crying as I ever had been in the whole horrible day.  I should have known, really, that she was using me – well, I did know, but I'd at least thought she was using me for myself in some way.  I didn't want to think it was all a set-up to punish Pizzazz.

"I don't see why you're so uptight about this," she said at last, her voice even harsher than usual.  "How many years have we been best friends, Pizzazz? And in all that time, all you ever did was hit on men who didn't want you.  And then Jetta waltzes into your life and I'm fucking useless even as your best friend.  Why shouldn't the two pathetic losers make nice together, then? Clash and I understand each other."

That last statement was a blatant untruth, but Pizzazz seemed too angry to care. "Don't you dare compare yourself to that little nothing." She kicked out hard with a booted foot, and the cooler sailed neatly into the pool.  At least she wasn't actually kicking _me_.  "Or to Jetta."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You stupid _moron_!" Pizzazz's voice soared in an ear-piercing shriek. I closed my eyes, waiting for the explosion.  Calling Roxy stupid was absolutely the most dangerous thing anyone could do.  She tended to be incredibly sensitive on that particular point.

I opened them at last when the sound of muffled crying became too much to ignore.  Pizzazz was sitting on the deck chair next to Roxy, her arms protectively tight around her.  They were sitting so close that white hair was flowing into green, as Roxy sobbed into her shoulder.

Maybe they only despised weakness in people who weren't themselves.

"Stop it," Pizzazz said at last.  "I'm sorry for whatever I did – just stop crying."  I'd never heard her apologise to anyone unless it was to dodge a lawsuit.  "Come on, babe, cut it out now.  If you really want Clash –" I stopped easing to my feet, and covered my face at the disgust in her voice –"you can have her."

"Don't wanna…" I wasn't really surprised, but it still hurt.

"Why, then?" Pizzazz's voice sounded so lost and little-girl, so far away from her usual raucous tones, that I uncovered my eyes, all the time knowing I shouldn't really be watching and listening.  A half-naked girl cradled against black leather, and a conversation that really didn't concern me anymore.

Especially when Roxy unburied her head and reached up her mouth to be kissed.

I couldn't look away.  They were so perfect together – the two women I admired and wanted more than any others on the face of this planet.  And I wasn't stupid enough not to see that there was a world of difference in the way Roxy was kissing Pizzazz to the way she had kissed me.

I was probably witnessing their first kiss. The thought didn't help much.

When it finally broke, Roxy was saying, in a whisper that didn't seem very Roxy-ish at all, "I've always loved you, you know that?"

Pizzazz shrugged.  Even from behind I could tell she was happy, by the easy curve of her spine.  "So – I'm a slow study sometimes."

As their lips met again, I felt a hand slip into mine.  I looked into Stormer's sweet face, and let her lead me quietly back into the house.

Jetta joined us at the door. "Well, this is a turn-up for the books, isn't it, loves?" she said brightly, slinging an arm around each of our shoulders.  "D'you think I'm the only girl in the band who isn't a dyke?"

I glared at her, as Stormer turned scarlet.   "Um – I think – Clash, do you want anything to eat? You should eat before you go to bed," she said with some semblance of normality.

"I think I'd better just go."

"Don't be silly – I had your old room made up. You're staying." I shook my head. "You _are_ staying. And Roxy will want to talk to you in the morning." Stormer's voice was firm, and I believed her. She didn't throw her weight around much, to say the least, but she could make it felt when she did.

"I don't want to-"

"It's best, really.  Everything will be okay," she added in painful echo.  "You'll see. You'll always be a Misfit in your own way.   It'll all turn out fine, won't it, Jetta?"

"So long as those two don't turn me sick going all love-dovey in rehearsals. I don't have much stomach for mushy stuff."

"Jetta!" Stormer gasped in outrage, and hauled me into the dining room.  I even felt close to smiling.

But that night, right before I fell asleep, I wondered whether, when Roxy made love to Pizzazz, she would call her Phyllis.

**~end~**


End file.
